A Proposal Worth Waiting For: The Heir's Proposal / A Pregnancy, a Party & a Proposal / His Proposal, Their Forever

CHAPTER THREE

A FEW minutes later, dinner over, Torie had to brush past Marc in order to leave the room.

“Waiting to high-grade the leftovers?” she asked mockingly in a soft voice for only him to hear.

“That would lead to starvation with this greedy crew,” he murmured back to her.

She’d meant to get past him and move on, but something in his smoky blue eyes caught at her and she paused, held in his gaze for a beat too long.

“I get first pick at all times,” he added arrogantly. “Or I don’t play at all.”

She flushed. He was so obviously trying to rattle her, and, darn it all—it was working. She should have known it was very foolish to taunt the tiger. A sharp retort came to mind, but she bit her lip and held it back, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head and looking away as she walked on.

She could feel his gaze follow her like a brand on her back, but she just kept going. She’d come here to Shangri-La with a purpose—she wanted to find facts and clear her father, and that meant snooping into things. It might be best not to tempt Marc with reasons for him to want to follow her around.

She needed to stay as far away from this man as she could manage.

She joined the others on the wide terrace. The rain had cleared out the fog and now it had gone away as well. Twilight wasn’t far off, and in the light that remained, Marge suggested they all join her in an excursion to the pier. She wanted to show them the boathouse and the dock. They all gathered into a group and began the long tramp down to the shore, but Torie noticed that Carl had slipped away and she hung back.

“I want to run up and get a jacket,” she told Marge. “I’ll catch up with you.”

Just before she started up the stairs, she heard a muffled thumping down the hallway, and she followed the sound into the library. There was Carl, knocking on wooden panels as though he expected one to slide open at his touch.

“Searching for a secret compartment?” she asked a bit caustically. “Not cool, Carl.”

He whirled to face her, his thin face intense. “Just checking the quality of construction,” he said unconvincingly.

“I’ll tell you what the construction is like,” she responded, a bit impatient with him. “It’s old. This place was built about a hundred years ago. And it’s held up all this time. I wouldn’t worry about how sound it is. If you buy it, obviously, you’ll have to get some expert advice. Structural engineers and architects.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, frowning at her as though she were being a nuisance. He hesitated, then sighed and moved closer so that he could whisper. His dark eyes were darting about the room, strangely impatient. “But these old houses have false fronts and hidden passageways. I’m just checking it out.” He frowned at her. “Did you know about any? Did you ever find one?”

She shook her head. He was really turning out to be a little strange, wasn’t he?

“Carl, I never even came into this house when I lived on the property. My father worked here, but I didn’t. We lived down by the gate, at the butler’s house. I never even came onto the porch.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He gestured toward a glass cabinet in the corner of the room.

“So you never saw the bag of Spanish gold they used to keep in that display case?”

She turned and stared at it. An empty showcase was a sad thing and she realized it must have looked that way for the last fifteen years. Why had they left it like this? Did they think the Don Carlos Treasure would turn up again someday? From what she understood, it was at the bottom of the sea.

“No,” she said softly. “I never saw it.” At least not there.

There was a noise in the hallway and suddenly Jimmy, the current butler, appeared in the doorway, looking surprised to see them in the library. Torie gave him a friendly smile and told Carl, “I’m just running up to get a jacket. You ought to go on out and meet the others. They’re taking a look at the old boathouse. You might just be interested.”

Carl nodded, but he was eyeing Jimmy speculatively, and Torie took the opportunity to escape before he began questioning the man about construction facts. She raced up the stairs to the bedroom and was about to reach for her velour hoodie when she noticed that Marc’s denim jacket was still lying where she’d tossed it on the chair. She hesitated. Something about it appealed to her on a primitive level. She ought to get it back to him.

Instead, she found herself pulling it on and posing in front of the full-length mirror. It was big and heavy and rough and it looked completely wrong for her slender frame—and she knew she had better get it off before Carl came up and saw her in it. But she hugged it to herself, thinking it had a male smell that could be seductive if she let it be. For just a moment, she remembered how it had felt to be in Marc’s arms, coming through the fog. That made her smile at herself in the mirror.

“Go ahead and wear it if you want to,” Marc’s deep voice said.

She whirled, gasping in shock. There he was, standing in the doorway to her bathroom, a pipe wrench in his hand. Her face went instantly to crimson and she shed the jacket as though it had just caught on fire.

“What are you doing here?” she cried out. Surprised, embarrassed, humiliated—she was all three at once.

She could tell he was trying not to smile, but he just couldn’t help himself, and when his grin broke out, it was wide and sardonic.

“Just a little sink repair,” he said, waving the wrench at her. “I thought you’d gone down to the beach with the others.”

She dropped the jacket on the floor and glared at him. “I hate you,” she said unconvincingly.

He laughed, which only made her more angry. “Totally understandable,” he acknowledged.

“I was just...just...” There was no way to explain what she’d been doing, prancing around in his jacket in front of her mirror, so she gave it up. “You ought to let people know when you’re in their bathroom.”

He shrugged. “Exactly why I came out when I did. I wanted to make sure you didn’t do anything you’d regret.” He couldn’t help but grin again. “I’ve got to admit, you look a hell of a lot cuter than I do in that jacket. Maybe you should keep it.”

She glared at him. “I don’t want it,” she said emphatically as she threw it toward him. Her face was beginning to cool down. For a moment there she’d been afraid she would explode with the agony of it all. Things were better now—heart rate slowing, skin cooling, breathing getting back to normal. Maybe she was going to be okay.

“What were you really doing in here?” she asked him, frowning suspiciously. “Checking around for some answers to those questions you were talking about?”

“Why?” He cocked a curious eyebrow her way. “Are there some answers lurking where I could find them?”

Her green eyes narrowed. “You tell me.”

He shook his head as though she thoroughly amused him. “I didn’t go through your things,” he told her patiently. “And I really don’t plan to. Not yet anyway.”

She glared at him. “Not ever!”

He considered her words for a moment. “How about this?” he said. “You go ahead and give me some answers now. Then I won’t be tempted to go digging at all.”

She hesitated, searching his smoky eyes for reasons to believe he was being straight with her. What would he be digging for, anyway? Did he really think she was some kind of scam artist? Or that Carl was?

That gave her pause. After all, she wasn’t too sure about Carl herself anymore.

“We could try that,” she said, attempting to sound reasonable and watching his reaction. “We could both ask each other. Take turns.”

He made a face as though he thought that was going a little far, but still he said, “If you want.”

“Ask me something,” she challenged. “I’ll see if you deserve an answer or not.”

He nodded, considering. “And I’ll see if I can trust anything you tell me.”

Her chin rose and her eyes blazed. “Trust is a slippery thing.”

“You got that right.” He carefully put the wrench down on the desk. “Okay, let’s just try it.” He shrugged. “You start.”

She thought for a second, then said, “Here’s one. Why are you so mean?”

He threw his head back and groaned. “That’s such a girlie question. There’s no way I can answer that.”

She shrugged, nose in the air. “I rest my case. You can’t be trusted.”

He glared at her. “You’ve got to ask things that get to substance, not feelings.”

She glared back. “Okay, let’s hear your great question.”

“Okay.” He looked at her for a long moment, then shoved his hands down into the pockets of his jeans and frowned. “Here’s what I want to know. Why would you lie about being married?”

Her heart flipped over and began to pound. Her hands curled into fists. “So now you’re calling me a liar?” she said breathlessly.

“Oh yeah. Beyond a doubt.”

She flushed. What could she say? He was right. “You’re just grasping for things to make me angry,” she charged, knowing it was a weak one. “You don’t have any proof.”

“I don’t need proof. I’ve got common sense and my own two eyes.” He gave her a half smile. “In fact, I’ve got a whole list of reasons that tell me you two aren’t married.”

“A list?”

“Yeah.”

She turned away, panic fluttering in her throat. “You know, I don’t need this...” she began, but a shout from the direction of the beach stopped the words in her throat and they both went out onto the balcony, looking toward where the sound had come from.

“They’ve started back,” Marc said. “Looks like you missed your tour of the boat house.”

They both leaned on the railing, looking west and watching a gorgeous sunset. All traces of the fog were gone now, and the sky was streaked with red and purple. The ocean was silver blue.

Marc rubbed his eyes as though they were tired and he looked again, shaking his head. “It’s so damn beautiful,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I’d forgotten how much I loved the evening sky out here.”

She looked at him sideways. “You haven’t been back here much lately?”

“No. Not at all, in fact. I’ve mostly been overseas.”

She thought about that for a minute. If she’d come earlier, he wouldn’t have been here. And that would have been a good thing. Wouldn’t it?

“When did you get discharged from the military?”

“A while back. But I only came home two days ago.” His mouth twisted. “I’ve been gone over ten years and it all still looks so much the same. You’d think the land would show the scars of...” He winced, then shrugged, letting the thought go. “Anyway, I can’t believe how much this place means to me. I can see my history everywhere I look.”

He pointed. “See that broken gate to the rose garden? See how it lists? That happened when I told my high-school sweetheart I wasn’t the marrying kind. She slapped me and then slammed that poor gate so hard, it almost fell off the hinges.”

Torie tried to remember who that would have been but the memory didn’t surface. “At least you recovered,” she murmured.

“Yeah. Sort of.”

This time his grin was open and sweet and her heartbeat quickened just seeing it.

But he wasn’t finished. “See that pile of rocks by the oak tree? That’s where my brother and I buried our old dog Neville.”

“Oh.” Torie gasped. She’d forgotten about Ricky. Two years older than Marc, he’d been a shyer, more remote figure, sort of awkward and a bit of a computer geek. What had ever happened to Ricky?

“We had a funeral service and put that dear old dog in the ground,” Marc said. He shook his head, a half smile lingering on his lips.

“Where is your brother?” she asked, hoping he would tell more.

He didn’t answer for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was gravelly. “Gone. I can’t believe how long it’s been. He died just over ten years ago.”

“Oh no!”

The news went through her like an electric shock. It was horrible to think of Ricky gone. And all this time, she’d never known about it. She felt a trembling deep down that shook her. Ricky had never been anything much to her. Not the way Marc had been. She’d demonized him in her mind because he was part of her enemy—the Huntingtons. But was that fair? He was part of her past, too.

There was too much tragedy in the world. Ricky, Marc’s father, her own father—all gone. Tears shimmered in her eyes and she covered her mouth with her hands, as though holding back the dark side of life for all she was worth.

He watched her for a moment, wondering why his brother’s death would seem to touch her like this. That was a part of the fascination he had with her—she was always surprising him. Just when he thought he had her all figured out, she would do or say something that showed him how useless it was to make assumptions.

Turning, he looked out at the grounds again, searching for something he could use to change the subject.

“The red tile roof you see in the distance used to be the butler’s house,” he pointed out, hoping to distract her.

It seemed to be working. She’d turned her attention to where he’d indicated.

“He had a little girl who used to hide in the apple tree while I was washing my car over there by the shed. She’d wait up there, eating apples, until the car was sparkling clean and I was gone and then she would throw the apple cores down on my just-washed car.”

“No she did not!” Torie said before she thought. But it wasn’t true! She would never have done such a thing. Would she?

He looked at her in surprise. “How would you know?”

She was flushing again and still wiping tears from her eyes. This was not a road she wanted him to go down. She had to change the subject and nip this in the bud.

Turning away, she went back into the room and sank down to sit on the bed. “Listen, you were going to tell me why you got this nutty idea that Carl and I weren’t married,” she reminded him. Better that than memories of the chubby little girl in the apple tree. “You said you had a list.”

“That’s right.” He followed her back in, standing in front of her and looking down at her. “You want to hear it?”

She took a deep breath and made herself smile. “Sure. And I’ll shoot down every one of your items. Go.”

“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “To begin with, I’d say Carl has a passion, but it’s not for you.”

He said the oddest things!

“Gee thanks,” she retorted.

He gave her a curious look. “I hope that doesn’t break your heart.”

“Hardly. Go on. I thought you had a whole list.”

“I do. Here goes.” His head tilted back and he began to go through the reasons, counting them off on his fingers.

“No ring on your finger. No ring on his. Separate bedrooms. You two sit at a dinner table like strangers. Newlyweds usually can’t keep their hands off each other.”

Her lower lip stuck out and she took a deep breath. “Circumstantial evidence. What else?”

He turned and held her gaze with his own for a long, long moment before he spoke. And then he said, in a soft, husky voice, “The way you look at me.”

She gasped sharply and her cheeks colored again. “You don’t play fair, do you?” she said breathlessly, looking at him wide-eyed, knowing she probably looked hurt rather than angry. Because that was pretty much the way she felt.

He hesitated. She could see the indecision in his eyes. Then he reached out and touched her cheek softly with his fingertips. One casual caress and his hand was gone again.

“Torie, I don’t mean anything personal by that. I just mean that like any healthy young woman, you’re attracted to men. Not just me. It could be anybody. You’re not committed to one guy yet and it’s written all over you.”

He was so right about everything—probably why he was annoying. The more he talked, the less she found she could argue back about.

Still, this was not fair. She turned back to glare at him. “It’s all none of your business, you know.”

“Wrong.” He shrugged, his eyes cool and mysterious. “You came here under false pretenses. You claimed something that isn’t true. I should send you packing.”

She drew in a quick breath. “No. Your mother can do that if she wants. But you have no standing to do it. You didn’t invite us.”

“I didn’t invite you,” he repeated, shaking his head. The bitter twist was back in his mouth. “You’re right. It’s up to my mother. If she doesn’t care that you lied to get in here, why should I?”

Her courage took on new life. “You got that right. Good for you.”

“Tell me this, Torie.” He moved closer, looking down into her eyes. “Just exactly why are you here?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You.” He shook his head. “You’re not married to Carl. You don’t care if he buys the place or not. What do you want out of all this?”

“I...” She closed her eyes and swayed a bit. She wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to tell him that she’d lived here in the past, that if he thought hard, he would remember her, that his family had ruined her family and they ought to face that fact—and help her get to the truth. That was what she wanted. But she didn’t have the proof to back up those claims. Not yet. Soon, she hoped to lay it all before him. Very soon.

“I’m helping Carl,” she said. “Believe it or not, he thinks he needs me. He thinks portraying himself as a married man gives him more gravitas to make his case and submit his purchase plans.”

“No.” He shook his head slowly, his gaze travelling over her face as though sure the truth was in there somewhere. “That’s not it. I don’t think Carl wants to buy Shangri-La at all. He doesn’t have that land-grab look in his eyes.”

She threw out her hands, palms up. “Okay Mr. Know-It-All, then what did we come here for?” She waited, breathing fast. What was he going to guess? Did he have any idea?

“You got me.” His blue eyes searched her dark ones. “I don’t know. I don’t know why you came. I don’t know what you were doing out at the caves. I don’t know who you really are. But I intend to find out.” He flashed her a lopsided grin, his eyes filled with mischief. “So be careful, baby. Just remember. Like the song says, every move you make.”

“You’ll be watching me,” she said, trying to keep the resentment out of her voice but not entirely succeeding. “Got it.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“WHAT was that?” Lyla’s coal-black eyes were wide and startled. Her stylishly short hair was swept back in two wings at the sides of her face, making her look all the more surprised. “Was that a wolf?”

It was well after dark and Jimmy had started a fire in the fire pit on the patio overlooking the ocean. The others were gathering there, and Torie had joined them. The strange, high-pitched cry, wild and unnerving, had come during a lull in conversation.

“It sounds like a coyote,” she told the pretty woman reassuringly. “They usually shy away from humans. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Hey, no problem,” the man named Frank told her with a leering smile. “No one’s going to let a lovely lady like you get eaten by wolves.”

“Define wolves,” his wife Phoebe interjected caustically, looking daggers at Lyla.

Torie turned away. She was definitely staying out of this one. The drinks had been flowing freely for over an hour now, so the voices were getting higher and laughter was ringing throughout the patio area. That was good as far as she was concerned. At some point, she was hoping to feel safe in slipping away and following her own plan. It was just a matter of time.

She sank down into a deep wicker chair, staring into the golden flames that were leaping higher and higher, ignoring the others and letting memories creep up out of her subconscious.

She remembered parties around this very fire pit—but not parties that she ever attended. She remembered slinking about in the shadows, watching as Ricky or Marc gathered here with their high-school friends, envying them their abandoned joy, wishing...she wasn’t sure what. But wishing with all her heart anyway for something...someone.

She glanced out into the trees, wondering if there was anyone watching the way she’d watched. Sure enough, there was Marc. He wasn’t exactly hiding the way she had, but he was watching. Right now, he had his attention trained on someone else, though, and that made her smile. He was so busy keeping tabs on everyone. What made a man so paranoid?

But she knew very well what did that. It affected her, too.

He glanced her way and her gaze met his and she made a face, hoping to annoy him. Then she winked, for no reason at all. She caught the ghost of a smile on his face before he turned away and started watching the big Texan who was enthralling one and all with tales of his cowboy days herding cattle out on the range, heading for the Chicago stockyards.

“Has this guy ever heard that trains took over that job about a hundred years ago?” Frank muttered as he walked past her.

She glanced around the circle. Once again, Carl had disappeared and she frowned. What was his problem, anyway?

Someone put a stick in her hand and she noticed, vaguely, there was something white attached to the end of it.

“Oh my gosh,” Lyla cried out as someone handed her one too. “Toasted marshmallows on a stick. Are you serious?”

Torie blinked, realizing she was right. Dutifully, she began waving it toward the flames but she wasn’t particularly interested in the results.

“You’re letting it burn,” a low voice said from behind. Marc had come in from the cold and he reached out and took the stick from her, turning it expertly so that it browned evenly. He handed it back.